


Curse of the Tracy Men

by Yarol2075



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Alan is a good brave little brother, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oblique mention of vomit, depending on your definition mild Scott whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yarol2075/pseuds/Yarol2075
Summary: The Tracy men suffer from Migraines, with varying success for being treated.A young Alan is all alone when one hits Scott.
Kudos: 26





	Curse of the Tracy Men

They all got them. 

(Except Alan, ohthankgod, not the baby, not Alan.)

Migraines.

The curse of the Tracy men.

Jeff, Virgil and Gordon got mild ones with varying frequency. They could work through them, but once they were home, it was leave them alone until they slept it off.

John got the occasional doozy, but he was aware enough of the signs to transfer communication command elsewhere, or let EOS handle things, while he took care of himself. His migraines rarely lasted more than a half day.

All of them used medical remedies with varying success; John responding most favorably.

But Scott? Scott was his Grandfather all over again.

Grant Tracy had been a strong resilient man, but Sally Tracy remembered the times she had held him, unable to rise from their bed, crying from the pain, and the nauseous, and the sheer fatigue, and for all her medical training and knowledge there hadn’t been thing one she could do other than sooth and hold him, and wait it out. The longest had last a week and a half. 

And poor Scott was just like him. 

Fortunately, also like his Grandfather, he only got a migraine, maybe once every two or three years, and there were plenty of warning signs for him to stand down, so the likelihood of one striking while he was on a mission was next to zero.

Still, Alan considered the first time he was home alone with Scott when a migraine manifested full force, one of the scariest things he had ever dealt with.

He had been twelve.

And he had been in his room grumbling about the unfairness of homework when you were home-schooled with music blaring, when his music cut off and John popped up holographically and the look on his face made Alan worry for a moment that the worst had happened again.

“Wh..who?”

“Scott needs you in the lounge, Alan.”

“Huh? Why didn’t he call for me himself?” Alan got up and moved to the door and almost, almost shouted for Scott, but John appeared in front of him again.

“Be quiet!” John ordered softly but firmly, “Scott’s migraine finally hit.”

“Oh.”

Alan really never had much to do when one of his brothers had a migraine, mostly he just needed to be reminded to put his headphones on, and check to see if anyone was in a darkened room first before turning on the lights.

“I’ve already darkened the lounge, and he made it to one of the couches, but you need to go get one of the cold compress masks and wrap it in a towel and bring it to him. Also get a bucket,” John outlined, “MAX is already cleaning up, well, cleaning up.”

Alan did as he was told.

The lounge was dark, the massive transparent window/shield lowered and the liquid crystal therein, normally clear, was a complete opaque black. Only the lights on the edge of room were lit, and they were dimmed lower than Alan ever remembered them being. MAX, in silent mode, was up by Dad’s desk, cleaning something up off the floor. Everything seemed muffled. There was a unmoving human-shaped lump on one of the couches, moaning. 

It was something out of Alan’s nightmares.

At least John was there in holographic spirit, if not physically, although even he was dimmed to the point of eerie ghostliness.

“It’s okay, Alan,” John whispered, “You’re doing good. You just need to help Scott put the mask over his eyes, and put the bucket by the side of the couch near Scott’s head; he may need it. Then just stay with him until Grandma and Virgil are back,” he glanced to side, at a read-out Alan would never see, “ETA, about a half hour.”

Alan nodded, not trusting his voice, then John blinked out

As he inched closer to the prone figure, he faintly called:

“Scott?”

He only got a whimper in response; Alan set the bucket down per John’s orders.

“Scott, I need, I need to move your arm,” Alan tried again, gently tugging at the arm Scott had thrown over his eyes. He succeeded, but almost wished he hadn’t because for split second Scott had opened his eyes, and even in the gloom Alan has seen the pain in them that made Alan sure Scott couldn’t even see him. Still Alan had gently laid the cool compress mask over Scott’s eyes, and then sat down hard on the floor next to the couch. He managed to take hold of one of Scott’s hands, and held it both of his own.

It was one of the longest half hours of his life. 

Sitting there.

In the dark.

Listening to his big brother crying in pain that he could do nothing about.

Alan almost missed His Grandma and Virgil tiptoeing in, until they nearly were on top of him. Grandma wordlessly drew him up and away, as Virgil gently hefted Scott up in his arms, cuddling him close, and oh so slowly carrying Scott off to the med-bay.

As soon as Virgil and Scott were out of range the light came up and the liquid crystal cleared as the massive window was raised, leaving Alan blinking from the brightness.

“You did good, kiddo,” Grandma gave him a quick hug, and then studying him briefly, ruffled his hair, “how about a bowl of ice cream?”

“Is he going to be okay?” Alan blurted out, trying to fight the tears forming in his eyes.

“Right as rain in a few days,” she promised.

“Okay,” Alan sniffled, “Chocolate almond?”

Sally Tracy laughed softly.

“Chocolate almond, it is.”


End file.
